


a world of you

by bethchildz



Category: The Bletchley Circle
Genre: F/F, angst with the possibility of a happy ending, it’s all about that repression yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25093291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethchildz/pseuds/bethchildz
Summary: She had always felt this way. She had always wanted more. Was she always destined to search for something she couldn’t have?
Relationships: Susan Gray/Millie Harcourt, also Millie & an OC
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a year ago and this show aired in like 2014 but I found this in my google docs and kinda liked it? So this is me posting it into the void for my own satisfaction. 
> 
> Set before The Bletchley Circle: San Francisco.

**1955**

Dusk had started to draw in, and the eerie silver beams of moonlight were filtering through the gap between the curtains, casting obscure shadows over Millie’s bedroom, illuminating one small spot on the door opposite, and leaving the bed itself completely dark. Slowly, she drew back the covers, ready to stretch out her legs between the silk sheets after a long day typewriting for ungrateful old men when the doorbell suddenly rang. It was already quite late, and she expected no visitors, so she hesitated slightly: thought back to the trouble the girls had got themselves into before. She briefly considered reaching for her gun which she knew lay in her coat pocket by the doorway, but she shrugged off the irrational worry and called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s Susan.”

Susan? After moving her life to somewhere off the coast of God-knows-where, they shared a few postcards and letters back and forth, but somewhere along the line it stopped, and after 3 letters with no response, Millie gave up hope she’d ever hear from her old friend ever again. There was a gap, of course, where she used to be. It wasn’t quite the same, now, when she met up with Lucy and Jean for coffee. She had lived through 9 years without seeing her, 9 entire years, but seeing her go again, after all they’d been through together, left scars Millie didn’t know if could fully heal. She had thought often over the last year or so of their time at Bletchley, of the things that had always remained silent ever since, out of reach. And now, she was on the other side of her door. Again.

“Susan? I thought...you were in India?” she stood, staring at the woman she thought she would never see again, and her face was pale, worn and small. She looked so delicate. Aged?

“I am. I was,” she said, and stopped. She couldn’t look at Millie quite in the eye, she noticed, as if, if she did, something might be found there that was supposed to remain hidden. An awkward silence filled the air for a beat or two, Millie simply taking her in; Susan staring at the ground.

“Well, um, come in, come in,” Millie offered, moving aside to let her in. As she closed the door behind her, she suddenly became all too aware of the small nightgown she was wearing: the diaphanous silk, almost see-through. She grabbed her gown from the coat rack and threw it around herself discreetly.

Susan made her own way into the kitchen in silence, finding herself a seat at the kitchen table. Without asking further questions, Millie made them both a cup of tea – she had not forgotten how she liked it – and placed it in front of her. The silence was almost painfully loud. All Millie could hear besides her own heartbeat was the clock ticking and ticking. 

“There...was an accident. Timothy. He’s okay, he’s...okay, but we had to come back,” Susan finally said. She didn’t say anything more, but Millie could see that Susan’s hands were shaking. Gently, almost reluctantly, she took them in hers, rubbing them affectionately. There seemed to be so much more she wanted to say, but she offered nothing.

“And you? Are you okay?” Millie asked, her tone warmer than she expected.

“Yes.” But it came out shakily.

“Well...you don’t look—you don’t seem it.” Susan suddenly took her hands away from Millie’s and began to wring them together in her lap.

“I’m sorry, I—I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry,” she stuttered, beginning to stand up. Millie followed her, grabbing her arm gently.

“Susan, please, sit back down. Tell me what’s going on. Why are you here?”

A look of deep apology, and perhaps embarrassment, crossed Susan’s features, leaving her eyes slightly damp, her mouth almost a frown. Seeing her here, in Millie’s house, under such strange circumstances felt almost dreamlike, as though all of the late-night ponderings, regrets and what-ifs had suddenly manifested right in front of her.

As it turned out, Susan’s perfectly respectable life with her husband and two children – the life she chose over Millie – was collapsing. Millie couldn’t help the pang of bitterness she felt curl in her stomach. She tried to swallow it away.

“I kept thinking of all the things he still didn’t know. Even after telling him about Bletchley. I kept thinking about...” she trailed off, “us.” She scoffed before Millie could react to that admission. “How stupid is that? But being abroad...sending postcards. I kept thinking of the map. Of our plans.”

**January 1943**

_ It became an unspoken rule, at Bletchley, not to speak of the war, or of codes, outside of their working hours. Of course, Susan struggled with this more than any of the other girls. Millie often found her sitting on her bed, a vacant look on her face, mulling over the day’s work, always trying to break some code that didn’t even exist yet. Millie often watched her on days like this, as Lucy dressed to meet her other friends, or as she applied her lipstick in the tiny mirror they all shared. Lucy would ask if she wanted to join her, and Susan would always decline. Sometimes Millie would go. There would be a few men there, too, and without fail they would try and get her to dance. Sometimes she would oblige. Other times she would outright reject them before they had a chance. Most of the time, she wondered what it would be like if Susan joined them. She thought of her at home (because really, by this time, it was a home), puzzling over something silently. Sometimes it was an actual puzzle, taken from a newspaper; other times it seemed a mental code she could not break. Sometimes she looked at Millie with such an unreadable expression, often as Millie dressed or undressed before bed, her eyes soft but impenetrable, and it was then that Millie felt perhaps she may be the one trying to crack a code. But despite the silent challenges, the unspoken questions, they were closer than the others, from day one. There was something about Susan’s dedication, her unfaltering loyalty, that stirred admiration, and later, adoration, in Millie. She wasn’t the most sociable or outgoing person in the world, her introversion a distinct opposite in fact to Millie’s outgoing nature – always the social butterfly – but she wasn’t shy, either, and as time progressed, soon Lucy was even pointing out how far Susan had come out of her shell. Because of you, Millie, Lucy would say. Millie would always fail to hide the smile of pride that gave her. _

_ And so, it became the norm for them to spend time one-on-one, often laughing together about something nobody else found funny. Lucy would watch them in their shared room, smiling slightly. One night after Lucy had left, after a particularly hard day’s work, Millie found herself pondering the future, as so often she did. They had been sitting in a comfortable silence, as they became accustomed to, until Millie spoke up. _

_ “Do you think about what you’ll do after it’s all over?” _

_ “Oh, I don’t know. Try and find a steady job, I suppose. Whatever they’ll let us have,” Susan said quietly from under her blanket.  _

_ “That’s it?” Millie sat up.  _

_ “I don’t know, Millie. What do you want me to say?” _

_ “We’re doing something of purpose here. They’ve got to realise that, haven’t they?” She said, and she heard the naivety in her voice and hated herself for it. Something else that had become a silent but shared feeling amongst Bletchley girls was the fear that, after the war ended, and the men returned, they would be expected to go right back into dull lives as housewives, props – stripped of autonomy once again. _

_ “I hope so.” Susan’s words were firm, if quiet, and Millie could tell how much this meant to her too.  _

_ “I’ve always wanted to go travelling,” Millie said, and that brought a smile to her voice.  _

_ “Yeah, don’t we all,” Susan smiled too.  _

_ “No, I’m being serious. When it’s all over, that’s what I’m going to do.” _

_ “Really?” Susan looked up. They faced each other from their separate beds, the amber glow of the bedside lamp setting Susan’s face alight.  _

_ “Yes. Oh Susan…” she started, but trailed off. She saw the look of curiosity flash across Susan’s eyes, a small smirk on her lips. She lifted her eyebrows in question. _

_ “You should come with me!” Millie smiled. She felt childlike, thinking about it. Giddy.  _

_ “What?” Susan said, somewhat in disbelief, but she looked interested. She looked happy. And Millie wanted to sit by her side; she wanted closeness, wanted to join the amber glow. She jumped up and joined her in Susan’s bed before she could overthink the gesture. The sudden movement made Susan jump a little, but she shifted along, making room. _

_ “Yes! Oh, Susan, we would have so much fun!” Millie said excitedly, coming to hold Susan’s hands in hers.  _

_ “Together?” _

_ “Well, why not?” _

_ “Do women go travelling alone together?” Susan asked with an eyebrow raised, but a smile still plastered on her face. _

_ “Who’s going to stop us?” Millie said defiantly, practically beaming with anticipation. _

_ “Quite a lot of people actually,” she laughed. _

_ “Oh, Susan, don’t be so cynical. Can’t you imagine it? Look, I have a map.” She got up briefly, reached underneath her bed and pulled out a map that Susan noticed at once was covered in small marks of lipstick. _

_ “I’ve been planning my route.” She pointed at the map, one mark of red lipstick making a circle around Paris. “I want to start in Paris, of course.”  _

_ For the rest of the night, they came up with plans – fantasies – of the trips they could make, the fun they could have. All night, Millie remained by her side, their legs touching, their arms brushing. _

**1955**

“It’s not stupid. I think about it too,” Millie said, cupping her mug in her hands. She thought of Bletchley, of the times they spent cuddled under thin blankets together in the cold, speaking of a future they never really believed would arrive. Looking back on it now, it seemed so long ago, yet just like yesterday, all at once. 

“You do?” Susan looked up. 

“I wrote you letters, didn’t I?” Millie said, and she knew she sounded bitter, a poison in her voice she didn’t recognise. A look of slight guilt crossed Susan’s face.

“Your post-cards stopped,” she said quietly. Millie thought about that for a second, remembering her time abroad, remembering the pain every time she addressed Susan’s name, knowing she lay at home with her husband.

“So, what, you stopped replying out of revenge?” And this time it wasn’t bitterness, she realised, but a sadness, a disbelief that tinted her words.

“No, no. It became too painful. I felt...guilty. Like it was another lie. To Timothy. He often wondered why it was only you I wrote to. He used to say, “You were close with Millie, weren’t you?” How could I lie to him?” she said, and Millie noticed the tears that built in her blue eyes. Even now, even after being rejected, she felt the urge to wipe them away, to put a smile back on her face.

“But you did?”

“I did.”

Another silence wrapped its way around them, and the kitchen seemed suddenly too bright so late at night. The lightbulb hummed slightly, or perhaps it was the fridge. The clock kept ticking. 

“Have you ever told anyone? Lucy? Jean?” Susan suddenly asked, not meeting her eyes.

“No. I never did. But I think they knew. Don’t you?” She couldn’t help but smile. 

Susan laughed slightly, too. “Yes. The storm.”

**August 1944**

_ The room the 3 girls shared was always impossibly small, leaving little room for privacy, or movement, or much at all, really, but tonight it felt even smaller, somehow, with the heavy wind blowing the curtains and the lightning illuminating every corner. It wasn’t too late, yet, but there wasn’t much else to do in the heavy rain – it was the worst storm they’d had since starting at Bletchley – so the girls had no choice but to stay in. In fact, the thunder was louder, more frequent, and more threatening than Millie could remember hearing for a long while. It reminded her of when she was a child, and she used to sneak her way into her parents' bed, shaking. She was never afraid of much, not the dark, not talking to strangers, but a storm always made her tremble, as if her perfect adventurous world was crumbling before her eyes. Tonight, she and Susan were wrapped in their beds, trying to block out the sound of the thunder with their pillows, Susan laughing every time Millie jumped at a new strike of lightning. _

_ “I’m not scared, it just shocked me!” she lied, not very convincingly. Susan simply laughed harder, but soon the lightning struck again and as it illuminated Millie’s face, she could see her beautiful eyes widened slightly in fright as she sat up in her bed; she could see the way her hands shook just slightly. _

_ “Come here,” Susan whispered, lifting up her blankets to invite Millie into her bed. For a second, Millie hesitated, though it wasn’t the first time. Lucy wasn’t back from her shift yet, but she should be soon, and how would she be able to explain two girls cuddled so intimately? She was so young. Nevertheless, the more she tossed and turned in her cold sheets the more she craved the touch of someone by her side, of Susan by her side, and so she got up and buried her way into the covers of her bed. _

_ “Why, Susan, is this just an excuse to get me in your bed?” She teased, brushing Susan’s hair behind her ear just so. She felt rather than heard Susan’s low laughter as she came to trace the exposed skin on her chest. _

_ “Do I need to do that?” she said quietly, though her tone was still playful. Millie laughed in response, pushed her slightly before laying her head down beside her. _

_ “You know the answer to that.”  _

_ She felt Susan move to say something, or maybe she was about to lean in, when another particularly loud crack of thunder echoed outside, making both girls flinch.  _

_ “Okay, talk to me,” Millie said, “distract me. I hate storms.” _

_ “I can tell. You’re shaking, Millie,” Susan said gently, and in the dark she could just see the outline of Susan’s face, but she could tell the look she was giving Millie, the softness of her eyes, and she felt the butterflies in her stomach – this time something completely separate to fear. _

_ “Tell me what we’ll do in Europe,” Millie whispered, almost into her neck. She kissed her once there. Susan shivered. _

_ “Millie…” her voice was breathy, more like a sigh. _

_ “When we have privacy…” Millie whispered, this time in her ear. She swore she could hear her moan slightly, almost inaudibly. But then she felt her freeze underneath her. Millie leaned back, was about to ask if it was too much, had she gone too far, when Susan said, _

_ “I don’t know if I can go, Millie.” _

_ “What? Why?” Her voice was small, far too small for her liking, and she felt a short pang of dread in her gut. Had she messed up? Scared her away?  _

_ “You know why. If I go...I’ll never—I won’t be able to go back. I won’t be able to marry, or have children, or... I won’t,” Susan whispered into the dark, but instead of pushing away, she seemed to bring Millie in, bringing her closer, their foreheads touching. She didn’t want to, but Millie could feel the tears beginning to build behind her closed eyelids. She imagined them, together, walking the streets of Paris, sleeping in fancy hotels, ordering room service. She imagined Susan’s hair flayed out on the perfectly white pillows, her soft touch; the freedom of it. The liberation. _

_ “I know,” she said and started to cry softly. Susan brought a hand to gently stroke her hair, kissed her forehead once. Despite the overwhelming feeling of dread, the inevitability she was going to get her heart broken, Millie reached up and allowed their lips to meet in a kiss that began tenderly, her tears still streaming down her cheeks. But suddenly, she felt Susan shift beside her, giving her more room, and the kiss turned hungry, almost frenzied. She reached for Susan’s hair, her fingers getting tangled in it, and she felt Susan’s hands firmly at her hips. They hadn’t kissed like this, not even the first time. In fact, Millie couldn’t remember the last time she kissed someone with such fervour or passion, in a way that surpassed simple lust and desire. Certainly not the men who tried to court her. The heat of it, the sheer intensity of it, seemed to make the storm quieten, or blur into the background, so that all that remained was this bed, these hands, these bodies. Her hand was about to reach the hem of Susan’s nightgown when suddenly she heard the sound of footsteps outside their door, followed promptly by someone grabbing the doorknob.  _

_ “Shit,” Millie muttered, breaking away at once. Just as they both managed to sit up, torn apart, Lucy entered the room, her hair wet, shivering. Sensing something afoot, she looked up slightly to see the two girls sitting upright in bed, a frozen yet scandalised look on their faces.  _

_ “We were...scared by the storm,” Millie offered, by way of explanation. She tried to keep her voice as level as possible. _

_ “ _ She _ was scared,” Susan fired back. _

_“I was scared,”_ _Millie laughed nervously. Ever the sweet one, Lucy smiled._

_ “It’s bad out there, isn’t it? We just had to try and stop the front door flooding! Are you okay?” _

_ “Yes, yes we’re fine,” Millie replied, “But look at you!”  _

**1955**

“Oh, how could I forget! And Jean was always watching us. I would bet she knows more than we even know about ourselves,” Millie said, the memory of that night now vivid, hot, in her mind.

“But they never mentioned it.”

“No. I think they knew not to,” Millie smiled, almost sadly. She suddenly felt heavy, her heart racing a little too quickly, her stomach churning. Why was she so nervous? She could almost feel the cold dampness of the sheets at Bletchley, could almost bring back the sensation of smelling the room: the mustiness of it, masqueraded with her perfume. “So...where is Timothy now?” she asked to change the subject, solidifying her in the present. This was not Bletchley. Susan was married, even if that marriage was falling apart.

“At home. With the kids. I said I was visiting someone. He didn’t even bother to ask why, or who, this time...” she started to trail off. 

“I’m sorry, Susan. I am.” Despite it all, despite the fact Susan really had no nerve to turn up at Millie’s house like this, so late, after barely hearing from her in a year, she couldn’t help the way her heart yearned towards protecting her. She had always felt this way. She had always wanted more. Was she always destined to search for something she couldn’t have?

“I found myself here. I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking,” Susan said, ignoring her attempts at sympathy. Her tea was left almost untouched, Millie then noticed. She still sat there, almost hunched, so small. Millie wanted to throw a blanket over her, rub her arms, hold her. She wished she had it in her to want to kick her out. That’s how she should feel, isn’t it: angry? She chose the easy route, didn’t she? She chose the white picket fence with the husband and 2 children and it was Millie left to travel the globe alone, trying to find some sort of purpose in between the sheets of strangers. She didn’t care about reputation. Susan chose conformity. Why wasn’t she angry? All of a sudden, Millie found herself on her feet and began to pace. It was all she could do to keep herself together; her hands were fidgeting, and she felt tears threaten to give her away – she had to find some sort of ground. 

“Millie…are you angry? Do you want me to leave?” Susan asked, and her voice was sincere, there was no searching for sympathy there, only genuine apology and concern. She still looked so lost. 

“No, that’s the worst part. I’m not,” Millie said, closing her eyes shut tight, “It’s fine. You’re obviously in no fit state to go home.” Susan joined her in standing, then. Suddenly they were face-to-face, like a challenge: some sort of stand off. She looked at her in the eye properly for the first time tonight and what she found there scared her: a sincerity, a vulnerability she wasn’t used to, perhaps even desire, hidden beneath layers of apprehension. 

“Why does it feel like I’m seeing you again, for the first time since Bletchley? Why is it different?” Millie breathed, finally standing still. She tried to think back to the first time Susan came calling of her before they solved the Crowley murders. Had she felt like this when she saw her, when she sat opposite her in that café? She had felt shocked, more than anything, a strange surreal shift in time and space. Seeing her again now, in her kitchen, speaking of failed marriages and past kisses, past plans, it felt different. She felt as if her skin was about to set on fire.

“I...I don’t know,” she stuttered, but moved closer to Millie just slightly. Millie felt her heart hammering in her chest, reminiscent of the way it raced that night in the storm, or every time Susan had leaned over her just a little too closely at work, or the way their hands would brush occasionally, and most of all, the way her heart had raced that day of their first kiss.

**June 1943**

_ They were walking back home from work, just the two of them, their shoulders brushing every now and then because they couldn’t help but gravitate towards each other: the proximity of the other’s company intoxicating. It began to rain slightly, though it was a mild day in June, the sun still shining from out between the clouds.  _

_ “I wonder if there will be a rainbow,” Susan commented, smiling.  _

_ It was easy. They didn’t need to talk about much of anything. They didn’t speak about it, but they took the long way home, because they liked the walk, because without admitting it, they didn’t want to give up their time alone together. They took the route through the park, down behind the back alleys that they were supposed to avoid but loved because they were always completely deserted. Millie stopped there, leaned against the wall and pulled out her cigarette and lighter. _

_ “The rain will put that out,” Susan smiled. _

_ “Oh, please, it’s barely a drizzle,” Millie laughed, setting the cigarette alight with no trouble. “I love this weather.” _

_ “I thought you loved the heat and the sun,” Susan said, leaning back on the wall beside Millie. _

_ “Yes, that too. But there’s something very British about a light drizzle, don’t you think?” _

_ “Then why do you want to run away to Europe? Or America? Or wherever else you want us to end up,” she asked, still a light smile on her face. _

_ “Because there’s so much to see, Susan. Don’t you still want to come?” _

_ “Of course I do.” _

_ They stood for a while in silence, and Susan turned on her side, watching intently as Millie smoked her cigarette. The intensity of her eyes on her face made Millie feel nervous like a schoolgirl; she could almost feel a blush rising on her cheeks. _

_ “What are you staring at?” she smirked, looking at her out of the corner of her eye. _

_ “Nothing.” _

_ “‘Nothing’?” she mocked, stamping out the remnants of her cigarette and turning to face her observer. Her heart was racing, she could feel it in her chest, and she hated the way it gave her away, because she couldn’t help but take a deep breath, and she knew Susan noticed it. A strange look was on her face, one Millie couldn’t quite read. Some things never changed. _

_ “You’re a very beautiful woman, Millie,” Susan said, and Millie felt her racing heart skip a beat. Did she know what she was doing, saying this? Surely she saw the way Millie was around women? Surely she picked up on the way Millie looked at her? Was she making fun? _

_ “Susan…” she said, looking at her feet. “You know I—” but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. When she looked up again, Susan was still holding that expression, the unreadable one she often had while looking at Millie, and so, without being able to stop it, Millie allowed her eyes to move from the safety of Susan’s eyes to her lips. She couldn’t help but stare momentarily, before forcing herself to look up again.  _

_ “You..?” Susan asked, and it sounded almost like a challenge, though surely she couldn’t mean it like that, surely she couldn’t want— _

_ But Millie couldn’t hold back anymore. She thought of the dreams she kept having of her friend, just one bed over. She woke up sometimes in a sweat, the phantom touch still haunting her. She would look over, make sure Susan was still asleep, make sure she hadn’t noticed the way a moan may have left her lips. And now, here Susan was looking at her lips too, and Millie could sense she was waiting for something: any move to be made. And so she did it. She leaned in, their lips meeting, and whether it was the shock of it or the eventual release of built-up tension, Millie found herself pushing her backwards so that Susan’s back was firmly pressed against the wall, Millie’s hand just above her head. They stayed like that for a while, kissing in the rain. Her lips were soft. Even softer than in her dreams. She felt Susan kiss her back tenderly, passionately, and she could have cried. The relief of it. When she pulled away she looked around, making sure nobody had seen, but sure enough, it was as empty as ever, and almost instantly they both started giggling. _

_ “Come on, Lucy is going to be wondering where we’ve got to,” Millie laughed, grabbing her hand. _

**1955**

“Are you leaving him?” Millie asked bluntly, as they closed the gap between them in the kitchen, Susan now almost in reaching distance. 

“I—I don’t know. How can I?” she looked down again for a moment, before swallowing hard and making eye contact again. “But remember when...when I said I couldn’t go travelling with you because I wouldn’t be able to come back? Because I wouldn’t be able to get married?” 

“Yes,” she said, her arms crossed defiantly. How could she forget?

“What if…doing those things, getting married, was worse?” Her voice was soft, slightly broken, and Millie felt the tears building in her eyes once again. 

“Susan…” Millie started, bringing her hands to run through her own hair, “Was it what you wanted?”

“I thought so, at the time.” 

“And now?”

“Now I…” she stopped, looking up at Millie. They were even closer now, Millie having inched her way into Susan’s personal space without even realising it. She was so close now, she could see the flickers of green in her blue eyes. She was  _ too _ close, she knew that, but she couldn’t bring herself to stand back. It was magnetic, their push and pull. It felt like a chord that had linked them since day one; even separated, across an ocean or two, or three, she could feel it, this strange pulling sensation, as if they were attached by some invisible durable string. 

And here, now, there was no ocean separating them, there was nothing stopping Millie from leaning in ever so slowly, and so she did it. She leaned in. Before she could think clearly, before reason and self-respect and pride could get in the way, she kissed her, hard, against the kitchen counter. She could feel Susan return the kiss as she always did all those years ago, the way her lips moved against hers, as if no time had passed at all since the last time they had been in this position. It felt like a coming home, as though every restrained interaction they had had since returning into each other’s lives after Bletchley was building to this moment. But as quickly as she had leaned in, and as impulsively, she pulled back. And there was the distance again, wider than ever. She could briefly register Susan speaking, another apology, she thought, but it was Millie who leaned in, it was Millie who couldn’t help it. Could she ever?

“I should really, really go,” Susan said, her voice this time high and panicked.

“Then why did you come here, Susan? To break my heart again?” She spat, and this time, perhaps she did feel angry. Wasn’t that what this was?

“Millie, no. I—I wanted to see you. I needed to see you.”

“Well, did you get what you wanted? You saw me. Here I am,” she gestured towards herself. It was like a switch had gone off. The kiss was the panic button. She didn’t pay much attention to what happened after that. Not until the door closed and Millie felt the hot tears streaming down her face as she allowed herself to breathe properly for the first time since Susan set foot in her flat. 


	2. Chapter 2

Drowning her sorrows in a bottle of bourbon was no strange concept to Millie, having had her fair share of pathetic inebriated breakdowns at sleazy bars, or sometimes, at her lowest of lows, at her own kitchen table, but it was not her preferred method for coping with bad news or bad breakups. Sex had always felt like a much more efficient way of dealing with unwanted emotions – a perfect way to release anger, or tension, and sometimes just a simple boost of endorphins was enough to put Millie back on her feet. She had many fond memories of her adventures with ex-lovers; some she shared genial pillow talk with, some she had left behind as she snuck out of the hotel room at early hours of the morning, and some she barely remembered at all. Despite what was so depressingly expected of women, she was not ashamed of her high number of sexual partners, nor the gender of such; the lewd talk and rumours spread about her since she was a teenager were not enough to scare Millie away from the pleasures and delicacies of her own desire, and she was not afraid to go after what she wanted. She knew when to be quiet, how much to hide, to remain respectable in the eyes of those who mattered, and so, she often found herself in between the sheets of an attractive man or woman, especially when she found her heart particularly broken. 

But sex was not just a form of escape. Although she found a particular kind of satisfaction in the art of seduction – the way men would fall at her feet if she so wanted them to, the way women would blush under her magnificently skilled touch – she thought, too, of the times it was so much  _ more _ than a game of give and take. Over the course of her life, there were few individuals who managed to incorrigibly entangle their way into Millie Harcourt’s life, but the few who did resided very closely to her heart; some having broken it irreparably, and some lay more like a dormant volcano, ready to erupt if the pressure was just right. Susan Gray was one such woman. 

And so, Millie found herself at a bar, a glass of bourbon in her hand, scoping out potential suitors for a night of unadulterated passion; a way to distract herself from the incessant itch Susan had left under her skin since turning up at her house completely out of the blue. She had plenty of past lovers she knew would be up for a night of nostalgic indulgence for old times sake, but the searching out of her lovers, the thrill of the hunt, was one of her favourite parts on nights like this. The alcohol was warm in her bloodstream, but she was not drunk; she simply did not believe in drunken sexual escapades, much preferring the need for complete control over her body and the hands that would be allowed to touch it. A relatively attractive man caught her eye – tall, dark – and she smiled a decorative smile in his direction, lifting her eyebrow slightly as she sipped her drink. Seducing men was easy. Often, she could find a willing participant in less than half an hour at an establishment like this, if she pouted just so, fluttered her eyelashes, and feigned genuine interest. Most of the time, the sex was satisfactory, mediocre; if she was lucky and she managed to find a man who was willing to lose his facade of performative masculinity and give up control she could have a  _ very _ fun night, but something told her this particular man would give her no such luck. She left him waiting long enough for him to get bored, and so she continued her search. Really, she longed for a woman. She much preferred women, and always had done. Coincidentally, it was also women who caused her the most heartbreak.

A place like this would not usually be her first choice if she was looking for a woman – there were places much more suitable just a short trip around the corner, but as fate would have it, she caught the eye of a young blonde woman sitting by herself at the end of the bar. Women were very rarely alone this late at night, and although Millie was used to the precautions she had to take to ensure her safety, she couldn’t help the pang of genuine concern she had for this beautiful stranger who wore an elusive expression on her face, neither melancholy nor particularly seductive. Out of curiosity and perhaps an imagined duty of care (she was ever the protector), Millie found herself gravitating towards her. 

“Long night?” she asked kindly, taking a seat beside her. 

“You could say that,” the stranger smiled. She had a beautiful smile – her lips painted red, just like Millie’s – and she noticed a slight glimmer in her eye, a slight blush on her cheeks. She was slightly younger than Millie, in her late 20s or early 30s, if she were to hazard a guess. She noticed she was not wearing a wedding ring.

“What brings you to a place like this, all alone?” Millie asked, a touch of seduction in her voice, but genuine all the same.

“I could ask you the same thing…” the stranger paused.

“Millie.”

“Millie,” she repeated, smiling.

“Oh, I suppose you could guess,” she raised an eyebrow slightly, waiting for the stranger to respond.

“Mhm, you can get yourself a bad name admitting things like that,” but she was laughing, “I’m Sarah.”

“Well, Sarah, I’m pretty sure I already have one.” That made her laugh more, a genuine, hearty laugh. 

It turned out that Sarah was a waitress, she was 29, and she had just broken up with her boyfriend before he had a chance to propose. She was intelligent, humorous,  _ flirtatious _ . Something told Millie she may have also signed the Official Secrets Act – her story of ‘clerical’ work one she was all too familiar with, but now was not the time to hash up old wounds. There was something completely alluring about her; something mysterious, and Millie was intrigued, and certainly  _ attracted _ . In the end, it was Sarah who suggested going somewhere more private, and so, Millie brought her back to her flat with the promise of another drink. Somewhat unsurprisingly, no more alcohol was consumed. Instead, she found herself pressed against her own front door; Sarah’s assertiveness unexpected, but not necessarily unwanted. The fervour of their kisses suggested it was not Sarah’s first time with a woman, and in the back of Millie’s mind, she wondered about that, as she often wondered about the lives of her lovers, even during short sexual trysts. 

Sex with women always felt like a much more intimate experience, not so performative, and much more freeing than her relationships with men. Tonight, she put all of her might, her self-control, into refusing to think of Susan. As Sarah kissed the way down her neck, it seemed for a moment like a successful feat; as she unzipped her black dress, as she pushed her down on her bed, Susan was far from her mind. Instead, she lived vividly in the present moment, slipping the underwear from her body, making soft, red lipstick kisses on the inside of her thigh. The small moans of encouragement from this beautiful blonde stranger set a fire in her belly. She loved this the most: looking up at a woman from between her thighs, watching as her mouth opened slightly in pleasure, feeling her softness, feeling her muscles clench and tighten under her fingers and mouth. As far as Millie was concerned, no other sensation could be better, no sight more intoxicating. 

The first time she had the pleasure of experiencing such delight, she was 18, and her childhood best friend kissed her unexpectedly during a sleepover. She had heard girls speak about it ever so ashamedly, of the way boys would want to do it, as if it was some scandal. She wanted to know what the fuss was all about. She never looked back. Much to her disappointment, she never had the chance with Susan, not in a room she shared with Lucy, not in such a confined space, but she had dreamed about it endlessly. She had touched her, once, when Lucy was on a late shift. It was after the storm, not long before their time at Bletchley was coming to a close, and she thought about that moment like a record on a loop. She thought of the way she had tried to hold herself back, knowing she was headed for abandonment, being second best, but the night was cold, and it was almost Christmas, and she felt like warmth and home and happiness. Susan had shuddered and cried out ever so slightly, and even in the pitch black she could see the look of ecstasy on her face.  _ Maybe this will make you stay _ , she had thought, to no avail. 

It wasn’t until daylight, lying in bed with Sarah after a round of morning sex, that Susan crossed her mind. Not really. She was laid out next to her, her blonde curls spread over the pillow and Millie thought of the many times she had been in the position abroad, wishing the woman by her side was Susan. Did she wish she was here now? Surely not after all this time. But the kiss they had shared so recently still burned red hot on her lips, and for once, an orgasm didn’t make that feeling go away. 

“I think you’re pining after someone,” Sarah said with a devilish smirk, rolling forwards to lean on her elbows, looking up at Millie who was lighting a cigarette.

“Oh, I  _ don’t _ pine,” Millie scoffed, refusing to let her cheeks redden.

“But still, there’s someone isn’t there?” Sarah looked up at her with big blue eyes, a hint of genuine interest shining there.

“I thought the whole point of last night was to forget our miserable love lives,” Millie said between drags of her cigarette. She almost always smoked after sex, like a taken for granted tradition, and one she wouldn’t be complete without.

“It’s that bad, hm?” Sarah said with pity, and it made Millie roll her eyes. “Okay, okay, I get it, you don’t want to talk about it. Wanna go again?” She raised an eyebrow suggestively. 

“As...tempting as that sounds, I do have to go to work eventually.”

“A shame,” she said flirtatiously, leaving the bed to redress herself, ever so tantalisingly. She was almost ready to go back on her word, admit she didn’t actually have to go to work till much later, but she stopped herself, for once thinking a moment of solitude may not be the worst idea for the day. 

She kissed Sarah on the cheek before she left, gave her her phone number if she ever needed someone to call, and saw her on her way. If Susan hadn’t been on her mind, she wondered what could’ve been. Almost as if she willed it, a few moments later there was a knock on the door.

“Hmm, you couldn’t stay away I see—oh,” she stopped, her coquettish smile fading almost instantly as she saw the woman standing at her doorway for the second time this week. 

“Hi,” Susan smiled and half-waved awkwardly.

“Susan,” Millie sighed, “what do you want?”

“Please, Millie, I’m sorry about the other day. Please...let me in, let me explain.”

What was she supposed to do? Turn her away? She may have been peevish, but her heart remained as selfless as always, and so she couldn’t help allowing her in. 

“You keep catching me like this,” she said lightly to try and diffuse the tension, wrapping her gown around her waist more tightly.

“Oh. Well, nothing I haven’t seen before,” Susan said, but averted her eyes. A tense silence filled the air. 

She should’ve taken her for tea at a café like the first time, moved to safer territory, but a small, petty part of Millie enjoyed the fact that Sarah had been here so recently. The bed was still askew with their passion. There was a trail of her clothing just around the corner. 

“I left him.”

That certainly knocked her out of her shameful reverie. 

“What?” Millie asked in disbelief, still hovering close to the kitchen door as Susan took a seat. She almost had deja vu looking at the scene before her. Except she thought she heard her say—

“For good…” Susan became quiet, looking nervously at her hands.

“Jesus, you were serious,” Millie breathed, the shock and concern causing a strange sensation in her stomach, her legs suddenly weaker. She took a seat next to Susan, this time keeping her hands uncharacteristically to herself. 

“It was the right thing to do,” Susan smiled sadly. “He was a good man but…Well.” Her cheeks blushed a dark red.

“How did he take it?” 

“Surprisingly well. I don’t think...it was a shock.”

“And the house?”

“He went to stay with his cousin near Manchester.”

“Well...I don’t know what to say, Susan. I hope—I hope it’s good for you,” she offered.

“I’m sorry for turning up like this... _ again _ . I just—there’s nobody else...who understands,” she stuttered. Millie nodded sadly. She understood. That was the worst part. She thought of the moment she knew she liked women in  _ that way _ . She was only a teenager, barely 16, and she was in awe of her French teacher; she was tall, almost impossibly tall, Millie thought, and she suddenly understood why men wanted to kiss pretty girls, why the feelings in her chest felt like butterflies every time she leaned over her desk to read her work. She remembered how scared she was; how she felt a sick dread burn a hole through her chest when she learned the word  _ homosexual _ from the lips of her father, spoken in disgust and condemnation. She knew what happened to people like  _ that _ . It took her such a long time to get past that shame.

“I know.”

“I wasn’t just...I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she spoke sincerely, her eyes filling with tears. 

“Susan…” and Millie had to reach out and take her hand, like a reflex. “It’s okay. It’s not like I’ve just been sitting around waiting for you, okay. I have my own life.” She spoke honestly, but her tone was kind.

“I know. And I’m sorry for barging in like this. I—I saw the girl in the hallway. She’s pretty. I’m happy for you, Millie.” 

Millie smiled. “Yes, she is. But it’s not like that.”

“Could it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You know me,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

“Could it have been...with us?” Susan asked, her voice shy.

“Do you really need me to answer that?” Millie looked at her incredulously. “I didn’t ask you to travel the world with me for nothing.” 

Susan looked down into her lap, a nervous smile curling her lips at the edges. It was different, today, Millie thought, as though the sky was clearer. Somehow, a weight had been lifted.

“I know...I know it’s too late,” Susan started, barely a whisper, “but I’d like to see you again, Millie. If you’d let me.”

The sun was strong this morning, and the kitchen seemed to glow an almost unnatural yellow. With it, the space between them seemed to disintegrate, and the clouds seemed to part: a possibility for change. The storm had cleared.

“I’d like that,” Millie smiled back. It was always going to be this way, this thing between them, tugging at her heart. “But slowly. I’m not promising it will be like before.”

“I know. I know,” she looked up, tears in her eyes. “It’s just great to see you again, Millie. I mean it.”

_ Over a decade in the making _ , Millie thought to herself,  _ and still my whole world is full of you. _


End file.
